


But Never a Rose

by Lotus_Dumplings



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: ASL, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Dorks in Love, God they're dorks tho I love them, M/M, Why I up to interpretation, also finishing prumanoweek, but like if you wanna know my thoughts I can reply to comments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:00:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22028215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotus_Dumplings/pseuds/Lotus_Dumplings
Summary: But really, he wants to know why the boy always does the same thing. Why does he always leave, and why does Lovino feel oddly disappointed by it? What's with the flowers in the first place?Why is it never a rose?-----Prumano week 2019, day 3
Relationships: Prussia/South Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	But Never a Rose

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually finishing Prumano week 2019 in 2019 :0000

Lovino looks up from his book, forcing a welcoming smile. He knows it's the same boy from yesterday. And the day before. And that day before that, and the day before that. The same boy that's been coming in for the past three weeks, actually. 

He wordlessly places a single flower on the counter, like he does every time. This time it's a lilac. Last time it had been a violet. Before, a lily. But never a rose. 

Usually, a rose is someone's first choice when trying to woo someone else. They're a bit overrated—or, at least, that's what Lovino thinks—but that never stops them from being bought. The mystery boy, though, doesn't even look to consider them.

The boy—a platinum blonde with black nails, ripped jeans, and what Lovino suspects to be red contacts; all of which don't really match his white Polo shirt or his yellow bird earrings—comes in with a purpose. He tries to seem like he's struggling, tries to seem preoccupied, but Lovino can tell his eyes are set on something. Well, something besides _him_. He always avoids eye contact, even when he's buying. Instead, his eyes wander from one thing to another, nothing keeping his attention long. His nails tap nervously on the counter, and Lovino can't help but smile.

Sometimes he rings up the price slowly, enjoying the look of impatience on the stranger's face. Sometimes he studies his face, pale skin coloring with heat and freckles splaying his cheeks. Sometimes he smiles at him, hoping to receive one in return. But no matter what, the boy pays hastily, and then he's gone. 

This isn't new. A bit confusing, but not new. Lovino shakes his head and tries to go back to his book. He can't really focus on the words on the page, though. 

The boy never talks. Not that Lovino minds, it's just that customers often try to hold conversation. Some take his own silence as unwillingness to socialize, though, so he wouldn't be surprised if that's the case here. 

But he almost wants to hold a conversation with him. He wonders what he sounds like, what his interests are, what his smile looks like, and why he comes by every single day. He wants to know why he dresses like _that_ , too.

But really, he wants to know why the boy always does the same thing. Why does he always leave, and why does Lovino feel oddly disappointed by it? What's with the flowers in the first place?

Why is it never a rose?

Okay, so maybe a small part of him wants to see that cute boy give him a rose. That doesn't change his opinion on them, he just wants an answer, a clear understanding of why. He suspects something—or maybe he's dreaming of something he can't have—but he can't be sure. Flowers can mean anything. Roses are romantic. And even if it wouldn't be for him, at the very least Lovino will know not to embarrass himself trying.

The bell dings again, and he sighs. He can't hang on it, though. He'll have to let it go.

The next day, as he's flipping through a magazine, the door opens with a soft ding. Right on time, as expected. What isn't expected is the plop of a book hitting the counter. He looks up, meeting those eyes for the first time, before the other breaks the gaze. 

"I, um," he swallows, "made it. For you." His voice is small and sweet and quiet and uneven and if Lovino wasn't trying to get over his own shock he probably would've fallen in love with it. 

Slowly, Lovino flips it open, eyes widening. It's the flowers, each pressed carefully with small, neat, careful writing besides it. Names, meanings, thoughts, details. Each unique, yet following a similar pattern, a precise order. 

"I—" Lovino tries to say, but it comes out too quiet, and the rest gets caught in his throat. He sighs. Trying again, he grabs a pen and his sketch pad, scribbling it instead, quick and messy. 

_I love it. It's beautiful._

"Like you," the boy says, perhaps not meaning to or perhaps saying it louder than he wanted, because he flushes quickly and tries to string together some words to take it back. Lovino smiles, watching him bite his lip before signing, as steady and exact as everything else about him, _'ASL?'_

Lovino nods, and a weight seems to lift straight from the room. _'But don't apologize. You don't see me apologizing for thinking you're cute.'_

The other stands there, silent. The eyes that could barely meet his stuck on him, and Lovino can't help but lick his dry lips. Finally, the boy signs, _'I'm Gilbert.'_

_'Lovino.'_

_'Lovino,'_ Gilbert tests, nodding to himself. _'Are you free Saturday?'_

Oh. Lovino's sure his heart leaps into his throat, but two seconds later, he's still alive somehow. Slowly, he flips to a blank page in the book, and begins to write.

_Rose: Used in most cultures as a signal of a coffee date this Saturday at 8. Symbology suggests Lovino will probably hit snooze on his alarm, so please text him as a reminder._

Gilbert stares, frozen as Lovino begins to write his number. _'Give this back to me Saturday,'_ he says, before sliding the book over.

And slowly, he makes his way to the other side of the counter, plucking out one of the yellow roses and holding it out for his non-mystery Mystery Boy. Gilbert takes it, a smile spreading across his face as he twirls it in his fingers.


End file.
